Grandfatherhood
by therisingharvestmoon
Summary: The Death of Discworld experiences the joy and absolute terror of babysitting an infant.


**DISCLAIMER - A Discworld fan fic, short little oneshot I did of Susan and Death when she was a baby. Death, Albert and Susan belong to Terry Pratchett. Cuteyfullness belongs to me.**

**GRANDFATHERHOOD**

Death looked down at the small, pudgey human girl. What was he supposed to do with a child for two whole days? He pointed one bony finger at her. SO, he said the voice, YOU'RE THE ONE MY DAUGHTER AND THAT BOY CALLED SUSAN?

She gurgled, grabbing onto his finger and sucking it. Had he an eyebrow it would have been raised suspiciously at her. YOU KNOW, ALL YOU DO IS EAT AND POOP AND CRY AND POOP AND EAT. DON'T YOU DO ANYTHING INTERESTING? She responded by throwing the contents of her stomach all over his black robe. He looked down. AH, I SEE.

Picking the tiny, nappy clad Susan up with his metacarpals, Death took the baby over to Albert. ALBERT, he said, holding her at ulna length, PLEASE DISPOSE OF THESE WRAPPINGS AND PUT HER IN SOME NEW ONES. I TRUST YOU ARE FAMILIAR WITH THIS SORT OF THING?

Albert took the dripping little girl from Death and muttered something. Susan giggled, grabbing a fair hunk of Albert's greying hair and yanked it towards her mouth. I'M SORRY ALBERT, I'M NOT QUITE USED TO THIS THING DESCRIBED AS… GRANDFATHERHOOD QUITE YET.

''Tis no hair off my head, sir.' Albert yelped as Susan gripped harder. 'Figuratively, of course.' He cringed.

OH GOOD, Death said contently. While he waited for this 'changing' process to be completed, he opened the _Ankh-Morpork Establisher _and flipped it to the comic section, chuckling in amusement. He heard a strange noise; like a rattling. He looked up and around, but Albert still hadn't returned with his granddaughter. HMM, he said, returning to the paper. It happened again. Death jumped. Not many things surprised Death. He was worried.

And again.

Death slammed the newspaper on his bony knees and peered over his armchair to see Susan making off with his ankle bone. OH NO, DON'T DO THAT.

Susan giggled, holding Death's foot in her squishy little hands and crawling at a speed Death never thought possible. GLIDING ACTUALLY, Death thought to himself. No one walked or ran, it was more of a hovering motion. COME BACK HERE, he said sternly with one hand on his hipbone. He hopped after her with some integrity. SUSAN, PLEASE COME BACK WITH MY FOOT.

She looked up at him and his eyes glowed blue, with a mixture of awe, horror and the look upon a little one's face when they are about to wet their pants. Again.

NOW. His voice echoed with a resounding BOOM all around the Death's black domain, Susan's tiny pink slippers and blonde curls the only sign of colour. She whimpered. Her lower lip trembled.

OH NOW SUSAN, PLEASE DON'T CRY. Death said, bending down to pick her up. Tears fell down her wet little pink cheeks. She wailed when he touched her, moving into the corner glaring at him and sobbing fiercely. He reached out for her put she just pushed her fat little bottom away from him. SUSAN, he said softly, PLEASE COME HERE, GRANDAD DIDN'T MEAN IT. GRANDAD DIDN'T WANT YOU TO CRY.

She looked up at him and blinked. He was slightly surprised to. WELL, YES. He said. I SUPPOSE I AM YOUR GRANDAD. He made a noise which sounded like someone clearing their throat, but of course Death has no vocal chords. AND I DIDN'T MEAN TO MAKE YOU CRY.

Susan sniffed and handed him his foot which he reattached. When he went to stand the next time, she wailed again and stretched out her hands. WHAT? She yelped again. OH YOU WANT ME TO CARRY YOU.

Death bent over and picked up the infant in his hands. He nearly jumped out of his skeleton. Susan's soft little hands touched his skull, caressing the white bone. He was breathless. Well, he was always breathless, he didn't have lungs. She pointed behind him.

YOU WANT TO GO OUTSIDE?

She grinned.

VERY WELL THEN. He went to a cupboard in the nursery she was staying in and got out a large straw sun hat and handed it to her. It was perfect; she had a rather large head. Putting it on her, Death saw a perfectly black streak of hair amongst the blonde. He raised his proverbial brow and went to walk out the room again. She held he hand out and she look it, waddling along side him. They went outside and Susan's sunhat flopped over to one side. Death straighted it.

THERE ISNT EXACTLY A SUN HERE BUT ALBERT ALWAYS ENDS UP LOOKING LIKE A ROAST LOBSTER WHEN HE COMES INDOORS SO, YOU HAVE TO WERE THIS. WE DON'T WANT YOU GETTING BURNED NOW.

Susan chewed on her lip and thought for a moment. Then, she put the big floppy sunhat on his skull.

He made a sound like laughing and Albert nearly cut his hand off while peeling the potatoes. She giggled to, but her grandad put the hat back on her head.

ME? NO YOU WILL NEED IT SUSAN. I USUALLY TEND TO BLEACH.

**Review please, and you shall get to marry/snog the Discworld character of your choice!**


End file.
